


Time Will Untangle It

by Snowdew_Winters



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Attempted Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Implied Murder, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Pureblood Politics (Harry Potter), Though rejected
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 18:16:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29937450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snowdew_Winters/pseuds/Snowdew_Winters
Summary: Festfic for the Tomarry Valentines Exchange!A week after his parents died, Harry was obliged to go to the Yule Ball with Tom Riddle -- his boyfriend -- whom he suspected to have killed his parents.And Tom wanted to propose during said Ball.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle, Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort, Harry Potter/Voldemort
Comments: 5
Kudos: 27
Collections: Tomarrymort Valentines Exchange 2021





	Time Will Untangle It

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheLadyGia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLadyGia/gifts).



> Beta'ed by the wonderful [Saeva](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saeva)

Tom hung his coat on the rack and dusted the thin snow off the toes of his boots. He was scraping his feet when Harry appeared, leaning, on the side of the door frame, already in the proper attire for the Yule Ball an hour before they could leave for it.

“I don’t get why you want to be a politician.” Harry fiddled with the lace around his sleeves. “To be a Lord, for that matter. And to go to a _Ball_ and wear things like _this_ —”

“It’s tradition, dear.”

“Ha!” Harry splat himself onto the couch. “I was raised pureblood, Tom, and I never attended anything of the sort!”

“Of course not,” Tom sat down beside Harry. “Your parents were keen members of the Revolution.”

Harry’s hand that had stretched to caress Tom’s lap immediately retracted. With his eyes downcast, Harry shifted a little away from Tom.

“Don’t —”

“I’m not.” Harry turned aside and took in a deep breath. “I want some rest before tonight.”

Tom opened his mouth, but upon second thought, closed it again. Harry was already trudging through the living room to their study. The lock licked.

From his inner pocket, Tom took out a little blackvelvet box and twirled open the lid. He stared at the ring in his hands. Harry would enjoy the Ball, Tom was sure of it. As his fingers traced the carvings on the silver ring and black, square-like stone atop, his earring buzzed. 

His eyes narrowed. “Yaxley?”

“My lord, all places set.”

“Good.” His finger lingered on the black stone. “Leave no evidence.”

There was a murmur of assent as he leaned back into the couch again. Tom clenched the ring in his fist before he, softly, placed it into the box again. 

* * *

Harry pulled open the gothic window and a shaft of golden sunset rushed into the old study. Cold air blasted in his face — he had almost forgotten that it was winter. Shivering slightly, Harry hid his face in his frilly collar and hurried to hide behind a bookshelf at the far end. 

There came a knock at the door. “Harry.”

Harry did not respond — he did not have the heart to respond. Instead, he pulled down a black, leather-bound book. It was Tom’s journal — the records of his more… questionable actions. Harry had often looked through Tom’s plans and journals — with Tom’s assent — but this was information that was never offered nor sought between them. 

But today — he simply wanted to prove that it was not Tom.

Tom knocked again. “Harry!” 

He took in a deep breath and flipped open the journal. But his shaking hands had opened to one of the latter pages, marked — he noticed with alarm — with today’s date and the name ‘Bones’ circled twice around. Taking in another breath, Harry flipped slowly backwards, past the negotiations and interrogations, the tortures and ‘missing’ personals, until he found _it_. 

_December 17_ _th_ _, Dolohov — Magical Transportation, Apparition (cross out) floo (circled) malfunction._

His shuddering finger traced over the ink again. His body felt heavier, his head felt dizzier. Harry had known. He had known all along, just too reluctant to accept it as truth.

“Harry, please… we can talk —”

“Talk?” He shut the journal, struggling to keep his voice level. “Don’t — Tom. I won’t miss the Ball.”

Harry sunk into the soft carpet. His head hit the bookshelf. How can he confront Tom? Tom Riddle, the leader of the majority party in Magical Britain, anointed to be the next Minister of Magic. He was the brilliant politician behind the past two bills oppressing the media and civilian movements. The people did not believe it, at first, until the protest — or revolt, as they called it in _the Prophet_ — led by Albus Dumbledore, along with the Longbottoms, the Potters, and the Weasleys. The leaders were murdered, the supporters jailed. 

How could Harry accept a simple apology when his parents died in a suspicious malfunction of the floo system? 

He knew not how long he stayed on the ground. The last sun bled, slowly, from the tip of the bookshelf back into the night, which left him in momentary, appropriate dimness. When the candles lit up he waved them out again. He didn't want to see the light. 

“Harry?” Tom knocked. “We need to go.” Of course they did — the to-be minister could hardly miss the ball and leaving Harry behind would be scandalous. 

He tidied himself, sighed, and opened the door again. 

Tom smiled. “We can get a bit of food beforehand — You didn’t have dinner.” 

“No. Don’t we need to go?”

Tom tucked a strand of loose hair behind Harry’s ear. Harry looked away, but blushed still. They stepped into the floo in silence. 

* * *

The admiring glances lingered between Harry and Tom from the moment they stepped through the fireplace. Having feigned nods and smiles until his face ached, Harry now stood leaning against a table, his hands played with a wine glass. 

“You’re not in a good mood.”

Harry snorted. “I’m sorry.”

The Ball was reaching its height. Where the dancers were giddily spinning, Harry was still, sipping wine with half-lidded eyes. He watched Tom as he swirled in and out groups of politicians, leaving them laughing or flustered or dim. 

Tom, after he shook off the fervent sycophants, approached Harry with a small plate of refreshments. “You should eat, love.” 

Harry took one, but did not rush to put it in his mouth. “I heard Madam Bones is unwell tonight.” He stared hard at Tom.

“I didn’t know you cared for her.”

“I didn’t know she was rebellious,” Harry said. “Will she die? Or simply be imprisoned?”

This tune was approaching its end, the musicians yawned before turning their page to another waltz. Tom sighed before he took Harry’s hand. “Dance, dear?”

“Please, Tom —”

“It’s your first introduction to politics.” Tom pressed Harry’s hands to his lips. “It mustn’t be too shabby.”

“You must dance tonight?” Harry’s lips pressed together tightly.

“ _You_ must.” Tom said. “They will see you as improper… Unless you want to dance with someone else?”

“They already see me as improper —”

“Please… Harry,” Tom dragged Harry into his arms. “You will enjoy it, I promise.”

* * *

As the chandeliers swirled and as their shoes clicked, Harry floated into the music. The pleats and folds of his robes tapped lightly between them. The glorious light blinded his eyes and he leaned into dance… Oh, enjoy it he did. But a sense of guilt tended to rise at such delightful hours, and Harry let out a breath.

He closed his eyes and forced himself out of the moment. When he reopened them, a soft determination had settled there.“Tom, why?” 

Tom’s footsteps paused for a beat.

“Please, don’t lie.” Harry’s voice was gentle, but having spent years with Tom — he knew full well that threats, or any other propositions, double in intensity when spoken through calm facades. “My parents — I asked you to leave them out of it.”

“It was already planned,” He swirled Harry into his arms. “I had no choice.”

“No choice?” Harry smiled that obligatory smile for anyone watching but his laugh was quite bitter. “I had — I am assisting you in rooting out Dumbledore’s men, Tom. But to stage such a gruesome accident —”

“It was hardly gruesome.”

“They were found in five pieces throughout Britain,” Harry said. “Not gruesome at all!”

They stepped together against the pool of dancers. He leaned away from Tom, but was pulled back into Tom’s chest.

“Albus Dumbledore was the target.” Tom’s breath grazed his ears. “Your parents were not supposed to be there.”

Harry pushed him away. “Even worse, then,” he said. “A worthless death.”

There was a short silence.

“I thought you had the conviction to fight your old friends.”

“It’s not that.” Harry looked away. “You gave me a promise… What do promises mean to you?”

He was suddenly tired, definitely too tired for accusations — questioning, even. So he was glad when Tom let the silence stand while the tune drew slowly to its end. His misty eyes blurred the lights. He closed them and let Tom lead him through the final steps of the dance. 

There were no words when they swirled out of the dance pool.

The tune ended. Amidst all the claps and clatters, Harry stared at the creamed ceiling as he swept away the thin sweat on his forehead with his sleeves. “Will I be such a sacrifice, Tom?” Harry whispered. “A sacrifice for your own political future?”

* * *

Harry, having excused himself, spent the next two hours on the balcony. 

Tom watched from inside the large French windows, mostly amused the old politicians with lengthy but unimportant discussions and occasionally went out with refreshments.

“Tom!” On one such excursion, he heard an enthusiastic call behind him. “I knew I’d see you here!”

He turned. “Mrs. Smith!” He exclaimed. “How has your night been?”

“Very well!” Hepzibah Smith nodded. “Why, I was talking to your boyfriend the other day and he said you’re sure to come this week!”

“Oh?”

“You know,” Smith leaned in her head conspiratorially. “The _Thing_. He asked if you could borrow it for a few days to study.”

Tom smiled: He had only briefly mentioned his… _project_ to Harry, and Harry has finished half the work for him. “I’d love to come, Mrs. Smith.”

Smith laughed. “I’ll not distract you from those old blokes,” she said. “They look like they need someone to talk to.”

Elated, Tom went back to the politicians and let his mind wonder about Harry. He was of two minds regarding Harry’s wayward behaviors after his parent’s death: A crueler, more visceral part of himself demanded retaliation for the vexation Harry caused, but his mind saw no logic in that decision.

And all decisions made without logic are bound to be false.

Harry’s choice to isolate himself was illogical, as well. They had succeeded, they had won — and by the simplest means, too. It would have taken months, if not years, to root out the rebellion if they missed the chance. Though, as far as Tom knew, Harry had never seen logic.

He was more tired now, but walking away seemed was unlikely as they dragged him into the same small talks for the fifth time: how piteous that Madam Bones is ill, how awful that old Prewetts hid forbidden artifacts in their house, how beautiful the young Malfoy is, and what a wondrous change Tom is bringing to the country! After most people had waved their goodbyes at the fireplace, lamenting how Harry cannot bid them farewell along with Tom, Tom was finally able to go out onto the balcony. 

* * *

Harry did not see Tom, at first. The new snow that gathered on small flowers — charmed to open permanently — blew into his face as the wind rose. Harry leaned into the wind, against the horizon where the first light had already started to expel the gray sky. He felt a hand around his waist. He looked back and gave Tom a small smile — barely a twitch of his lips — but Tom kneeled down before him.

He knelt down on the hard, cold stone beside the new snow, and took out a small, black felt box from his inner coat pocket. 

“You asked me what promises mean to me.” Tom lowered his head and pried the box open. “I cannot promise love, per se. But… I can promise that I will never sacrifice you, harm you.”

Harry turned away, but from the corners of his eyes he caught a small smile on Tom’s lips.

“Love is fickle,” Tpm said. “I will not say empty vows nor flowery oaths. No.” He took Harry’s hand and, softly, pressed his lips on it, “I only wish a future with the both of us.”

The sun rose.

A dream, set off, flew away into the surging light. Harry lifted the ring from its box, and held it against the golden sun. The halo gleamed around the dark stone. Harry leaned into the rising wind and let it blow off the heat of alcohol.

He looked back at Tom, then at the ring, and back again. He gave a long suffering sigh and closed the lid of the box. “Oh Tom,” He shook his head, “I… Thank you. Truly. But I —”

“Look, Harry —”

“I know,” Harry said with a small smile. “The resurrection stone. You’re always so thoughtful… This — It’s your family ring?”

Tom said nothing. Harry twirled the ring between his fingers until he finally put it down on Tom’s outstretched hands.

“I will think about it.” He smiled sadly. “But not now, Tom.”

Tom was silent for a long time. “…Why?”

“This is not the end of the world.” Harry said. “Well — I need some time to think. I cannot, so soon after my parent’s death. See — last time I was forced to choose after Remus’ death I spent six years with Ginny —”

Tom was glaring at him.

Harry laughed. “I don’t need vows, Tom. I don’t need promises, even.” He curled Tom’s cold hands around the ring again, one finger at a time. “I want trust. I want… well — I want you to prove what you said.”

“What proof?” Tom demanded. “What proof have I not given you already?”

“We have so much time ahead of us. Why does it matter, now or later?”

Silence.

Tom looked down at the ring that sits cold against his palm. “Even so,” he said, finally. “Even so, I want you to take it. Take it as a simple apology for your parents.”

Harry took in a large breath. “No.” He said.“They’ll disapprove.”

“But —” Tom’s hand that clutched around Harry’s was ice cold, and his white knuckles were turning pink in the wintry wind “— I… I beg you. Put it on.”

“It’s not —”

“It’s not the end of anything,” Tom said. “I know. Just for my sake. Please.”

Harry looked at Tom for a long time, and then, slowly, he extended his hand. The Gaunt ring was cold on his fingers. Harry let Tom stay, his warmth of Tom’s chest pressed tight against his back. He didn’t melt into the touch as he usually might, but he stayed in place, allowing his head to lean on Tom’s shoulders while his weary eyes lingering on the sunrise. 

“You’re doing so well, Tom.” He murmured. 

“How do you know I’m not going to kill some muggles after your rejection?”

“You wouldn’t have said it, if you were.” Harry smiled. “I do believe in you — in some things about you. You wouldn’t do it anymore — without a good reason, at least.”

Tom had started laughing. Harry closed his eyes as the rays started to become piercing. Tom’s soft breathing and his heartbeat shrouded him as the sun did the two of them; his hair, scented by the soft winter and wine and cologne, was lifted by the wind. Tom pressed a soft kiss on Harry’s forehead.

“Give it a little time,” Harry said, “a little space. Time will untie it, not you or I. And I’ll come back to you, soon. I assure you.”

“And I believe in you as well.”

* * *

Tom, with Harry in his arms, watched the red, burning ball rise into a golden blanket, watched until it hurt his eyes to watch. Harry had fallen asleep against him, his hand loosely on Tom’s shoulder. As he held Harry closer, his fingers tracing the Resurrection Stone, Tom smiled.

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I hope you all enjoyed it!!  
> Comments are most welcome :)
> 
> I also hope that I have achieved some fluffiness... I have tried, guys. 
> 
> Have a nice day! And have a safe journey during your fic-reading adventures!


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